Chapter 4
by jmsutherland
Summary: Harry has a run in with the Patrician.


Page **10** of **10**

**Chapter IV**

Sergeant Boltmaker had warned him to be worried, but when Harry entered Commander Carrot's office, after knocking, he hadn't looked worried; he'd looked unhappy. And that was worrying. He'd never seen Carrot look unhappy before, in fact he'd rather assumed he wasn't capable of it.

"Is there something wrong, sir?" he asked, even though it was obvious there was.

"Yes, Harry," said Carrot, "I've let myself get distracted. I've let all this new responsibility, both professional and personal, take me too far from the streets."

"But that's my job, sir," said Harry, "mine and Stronginthearm's."

Captain Hardsven Stronginthearm was head of the Night Watch as Harry was head of the day. Carrot had hired Harry even though he'd been sacked as Captain of The Watch in Sto Lat amid dark accusations of corruption and backhanders. It was rumoured that Harry wasn't open to either.

"Then you may have let yourselves get too far away too."

To an outsider this might have seemed like a mild rebuke; it wasn't, far from it.

"Are you talking about something specific, sir?"

Carrot didn't answer him, instead he said:

"We have a meeting with Lord Vetinari in an hour."

"Oh, dear," said Harry. When The Patrician wanted to see them, it was seldom good news.

"And the Duke of Ankh has paid me a visit."

"Oh, DEAR." It had been a long time since Sir Samuel Vimes had called round to his old nick on a social call, so this sounded like bad news, probably really bad news.

"And you're coming to dinner tonight."

"OH, DEAR!" This time he'd actually only thought it. He'd been for a meal with Mr. and Mrs. Ironfoundersson once before and whenever, in an unguarded moment, he recalled it, it still gave him indigestion.

It wasn't an order, of course, because Carrot never gave orders, he simply described the way things were going to be in the future and people did their best to make sure he was right.

"I have some things still to do," he said, and Harry could see that only iron control was keeping the exasperation from his voice. And then, only just.

"Make sure that Cheery and Igor know you're here and then get along to the palace and I'll meet you there."

He'd been dismissed.

All the way there Harry had tried to think of what it had been on the streets that had been so bad and yet that he'd somehow completely missed. There had been trouble the previous year with a lot of young trolls going berserk in public places, causing huge damage and resulting in several fatalities among dwarfs and humans. That had threatened to go really bad at one point.

Eventually he'd traced it to a new troll mob pushing bad _slab_ cut with _slate_. But he'd helped Chrysophrase sort that out. He'd even got a commendation from The Patrician –and the city a small, unexplained lava field just beyond the walls. That had been a much more pleasant trip than this one was likely to be.

Then a couple of months back there'd been that simmering dwarf feud that looked like it might boil over. That had started after that big influx of dwarfs from Copperhead a couple of years before and he'd never found out the reason behind it, nor would any dwarfs discuss it, not even Carrot. Anyway, that had eventually, and inevitably, come down to mineral-rights. He's sorted that out too. Of course he'd had to involve Carrot and eventually get Sir Samuel to ask the Low King to send an Arbiter of Dwarf Law, but it was all sorted out, and without bloodshed. Well, without much bloodshed. Though with much muttering into beards and a great many grudges/mining-claims hatched, to be passed down from generation to generation.

As for humans, of course there was the usual level of rape, robbery and murder. Actually, most of the theft and killing was legally approved, and Guild-sanctioned. But there had been no reported rise in the background level of human evil. If anything it had fallen, in spite of the population looking as though it had actually grown.

And with the smaller minority races; he couldn't see how any of them could possibly be a problem. There had been a rumour a while back of a rogue vampire having claimed several victims, but either it was only a rumour or it had been taken care of without unnecessary fuss; either by the Black Ribboners or by the vampires on the Watch itself. Sally had been the pioneer, but there were several now; and also: werewolves, golems, zombies, banshees, gargoyles, bogeymen, gnomes… The Watch genuinely was an equal-opportunities employer and he was proud of that. It was a shame that so few others had chosen to follow its example. And it was actually even more welcoming than anyone realised. The Security Section contained two members that probably wouldn't be welcome anywhere else; anywhere else on the Disc, never mind in the city: Lance Constable Ariel Evensong, was an elf, and Corporal Kaliban Kalibah, was an orc. The Security Section was a small unit that operated mostly outside of the city itself –generally outside the law too- and was a secret that, rather unusually, no one knew about. Apart from The Patrician, Carrot, Harry and Stronginthearm, the only people who knew of its existence were the people who were in it.

Everyone in The Watch wore a cloak and carried a dagger; the Sectioners also packed a cutthroat-razor and a garrotte. Plus a cosh, a throwing knife, a hatchet, a small crossbow, a hammer, a knucleduster…and oftentimes a thumbscrew. If anyone was going to be doing "cape and rapier" stuff, it was going to be them.

There had been another rumour of a new, even, smaller minority having arrived in the city, and he didn't mean the flies. This seemed to be based on the mysterious, almost miraculous, disappearance of a number of cows from well-guarded stockyards and large quantities of whisky from secure warehouses. This had been put down to the arrival of some Nac Mac Feegle. He couldn't see this really being a BIG problem. In any case, if the Wee Free Men really had come to town, what was he, or anyone else supposed to do about it, stamp it out? He knew someone in Sto Lat who had once tried to stamp on a Nac Mac Feegle and nearly lost a leg. No, it wasn't any of them so, unless it was elves or orcs –and surely everyone would have known if it had been either of them- he was stumped.

Mostly the different races policed themselves: the dwarfs in accordance with Mining Law, the trolls according to Clan Dues and humans by the will of the Guilds. The Watch existed only around the edges, to protect communities from those within their ranks that they could not, or would not, protect themselves from. It had actually been Lord Vetinari himself who, in a quiet moment, had explained this to him:

"I rule the people and you police them because that is what they wish us to do. Should at any time they no longer wish us to do so, there is absolutely nothing either of us could do about it."

In the end he had to admit that he was completely flummoxed. He was already in trouble; he was soon to be in a great deal more, and he had no idea why. A policeman's lot is not a happy one.

He was standing in the ante-chamber outside The Patrician's office when Carrot arrived at precisely nine fifty-nine. He looked unhurried as he straightened his gleaming breastplate and removed his helmet. Harry didn't even have time to say "hello" before Drumknott opened the door and beckoned them inside, before disappearing.

Lord Vetinari was sitting at his desk, busying himself with some papers. Harry followed Carrot's lead as he advanced to within a couple of feet of the desk and saluted. Vetinari didn't look up. There were two, comfortable-looking chairs just off to the side, but he didn't invite them to sit. Drumknott returned with a tray and poured The Patrician some tea. He continued to work while he let it cool. Eventually he put down his pen, picked up his cup and sat back, looking at them for the first time.

"I won't invite you to join me," he said, taking a sip and ramming home the point of not inviting them to sit.

"I received a visit this morning," he began, in the tones of someone whose next words were likely to be: from your badly house-trained dog, "from a number of civic and community leaders."

It was clear that he could barely entertain the presence of the words in his mouth. Harry had to fight back the words that were trying to jump into his. Luckily, Carrot said them instead.

"I didn't know we had any civic and community leaders, my lord."

"Indeed," agreed Vetinari, "until today I was not aware of their existence either. I'm not sure I am now. It was a most…"he paused, "what was the word, Drumknott?"

"_Seedy_, my lord?"

"Ha ha," laughed Vetinari, mirthlessly, "was that the word I used? No, in was a most, _unenlightening_ conversation."

"And what do they represent, exactly?" wondered Carrot.

"Well, the _civis_, naturally: the city and/or its citizens. And of course the wider community, though I admit that that is a far vaguer concept; I have a list here."

He gestured to Drumknott, who handed him a piece of paper. The Patrician took it as if it were a rather soiled handkerchief, and looked it over.

"Ah, yes: _The Concerned Citizens Committee, The Residents' Council, The Local Businessmen's Association_…it goes on," he said clearly tired of it, and handing it back to Drumknott, who handed it to Harry, who assumed he was supposed to keep it. "There are names on there too, perhaps you should look into them."

"Yes, my lord," said Carrot. "My lord, how did these _civic leaders_ become civic leaders?"

Harry thought trying to involve The Patrician of Ankh-Morpork in a discussion about the legitimacy of unelected leaders might possibly not be an entirely wise thing to do.

"To that, alas, I cannot speak. Another thing you might want to investigate. Oh, and one further thing, I have recently begun to see a strange graffito: a large, black "X". Do you know what it means?"

"No, my lord," said Carrot, "I don't."

"I think I do, my lord," Harry piped-up.

"Really," said Vetenari, "do tell."

"I've heard it's the ancient symbol of Ankh-Morpork," he said, feeling he was on safe ground, and there wasn't much of that here, "something to do with a line for each side of the city, and they cross at the river."

"Is that so," said Vetinari, "how charming. Then I shall detain you no further."

As they walked down the stairs he turned to Carrot.

"You both know what it means, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And it doesn't mean what I said, does it?"

"No."

"Then what does it mean?"

"Harry, if you were really angry and wanted people to read about it but didn't know how to write, what would you do?"

Havelock Vetinari looked out of his window over the huge expanse of Ankh-Morpork. It was a terrifying site.

"There is evil out there," he mused.

"As always, my lord," said Drumknott.

"Thank you for reminding me of the obvious; such times remind me of how valuable you are."

"My honour is to serve, my lord."

Vetinari and Drumknott had been at school together, though Drumknott had been a scholarship boy. Their "master and servant" act was one that no one would ever see through; an Assassin's training could be useful in so many ways. When the pause had gone on for sufficiently long, Drumknott ventured something more:

"I have heard it said that for evil to triumph all that is required is that good men do nothing, my lord."

"Ah, would that that were the case," sighed Vetinari. He could see the unhappy figures of Carrot and Harry separate at the bridge.

"There go two good men who are going to do their best, and in both cases it is a very good best, yet it shall still not be enough."

There was a legend which said that centuries before, when Ankh-Morpork still had a king, an old woman had come to the royal palace one night trying to sell wisdom. She had nine scrolls, written in the language of ancient Ephebe, and she offered these to the king, but at ridiculous price. Tarquin the Tenth, for it was he, had laughed at the crone and dismissed her out of hand. The old woman had gone away but not before burning three of the scrolls in the courtyard. The next night she had returned and offered the king the six remaining scrolls, but for the same price she had asked for the nine. Again the king had rejected her offer, though this time with a good deal less assurance. The old woman had burned three more scrolls and departed. On the third night the king had bought the scrolls, even though the price hadn't changed and the old woman had disappeared, never to be seen again. Who was the mysterious old woman? Some believed that she was and an oracle; some believed that she was a sibyl…but most sensible people believed that she'd never existed at all. Lord Vetinari wasn't one of the "sensible" people, for the very good reason that the three scrolls were currently resting in the safe inside the secret room below his office.

He'd inherited them, along with the Patricianship, from Mad Lord Snapcase and it had taken him years even to decipher the first of them. The effort, however, had been more than amply rewarded, for it predicted the future and it did it with uncanny accuracy. That was why he knew what was coming and that it would take a great deal more to defeat it than the Ankh-Morpork City Watch. His current problem was that though he knew what was going to happen in the near future, he hadn't yet deciphered how it all turned out. Reluctantly, he might have to consult with someone else.

"As you say, my lord," Drumknott agreed, "though perhaps if not quite such good men should also lend a hand…"

"Hmmm, interesting point. Which is my next meeting?"

"Madame Fifi, from the Guild of Seamstresses, my lord. Should I bring more tea?"

"No. Coffee, I think, one of the better roasts, and perhaps a decent cognac. Oh, and I'd like to meet Leonardo afterwards. I wonder what he's up to today."

"I shall attend to it immediately, my lord."


End file.
